


Link by Link

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Series: Protective Circles [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: This story takes place in an alternate universe where the accepted form of relationship is a little different from our world's, but not without its prejudices. There are technically a fuckton of pairings, but I listed those that appear on-screen so as not to tease those searching for a pairing that's only mentioned. The story follows the Avengers fam and the various relationships that evolve within it from 2012 to 2016. Expect a fair bit of handwaving canon, a little bit of D/s, and a lot of polyamory. Only a few chapters are actually explicit, though. I expect to write more in this verse in the future, after establishing this skeleton.The definitions at the start of each chapter come from an in-world slang dictionary.





	1. One Way

**one way**

adjective

(slur) interested exclusively in relationships as either a protector or protected

_ They could never form a complete circle, since Jim was one way. _

 

Steve rarely sees Natasha alone in the month following the Battle of New York, though they all spend a fair amount of their time on the common floor of the Tower during those fragile weeks when they’re not out helping the recovery effort or (in Bruce and Tony’s cases) analyzing alien biology in a lab. She’s made herself Barton’s shadow, and Steve certainly doesn’t disapprove, given how gray and lifeless Barton looks despite the mandatory daily therapy sessions. Steve knows what it’s like to wake up realizing a member of your circle is ( _ both of your immediate links are _ ) dead, but he doesn’t know how to talk to Barton about it. Natasha seems to, or at the very least gives him comfort through her constant companionship. And she, technically, has lost more, but Steve isn’t going to pretend to understand. She’s calm enough, steady. Gentle inquiries to JARVIS suggest that she’s not a suicide risk, unlike Agent Barton. When he finally does find her unaccompanied, it’s three in the morning, and he just smiles sheepishly at her and nods to the kettle. 

“Enough in there for another cup?” She nods and smiles softly. He finds a seat on one of the bar stools, leans his forearms on the kitchen island. “How’s Clint?”

She shrugs, leaning back against the counter. “Surviving. Don’t expect too much progress yet.”

“No,” Steve agrees. “I know it won’t be fast.” Natasha nods. “Are you… do you need anything?”

She quirks another half-smile at him and shakes her head. “I’m fine, Cap. Don’t worry about me.” 

“You’ve lost a link before,” Steve surmises.

“Pretty  _ and  _ quick.” She stands on tiptoe to reach for two mugs, drops bags of something herbal into them before she elaborates. “I know it’s weird, but Clint and Phil were closer, even with me in the middle. And Clint… was alone for a long time. Before SHIELD found him. Before  _ Phil _ found him.” 

Steve considers that silently, as the electric kettle clicks off and she pours water into their mugs. She sits down across from him, slides his mug across the island. “I guess it’s a little weird,” he admits, but smiles to soften it. “I assume you had your reasons, the three of you?”

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees. “They were together first. Clint brought me in. I needed… stability, so he let me slip in between them for a while. It was never supposed to be permanent.”  

“Ah.” Steve frowns. “They intended to link up again. After you found other partners.”

“Right. It lasted much longer than it needed to, really. Years. But...I was comfortable. They never rushed me.” She looks down into her mug, and Steve wonders if she feels guilt over that. Thinks she almost has to.

“Hard not to wonder,” he murmurs. “Trust me, I know a thing or two about that.”

She meets his eye, but doesn’t smile or frown, just sips her tea. 

“Coulson wasn’t… looking for a protector, was he?” Steve’s not sure how to be delicate about this, in a new century, but Natasha just barks a laugh. 

“Hell no. He was one way, through and through.” Her expression, once the laughter dies down, has a bit of challenge in it. He knows his startlement must be showing on his face, but he can’t help it. That term isn’t exactly nice, even now. One way is pretty much synonymous with “greedy” or “control freak,” depending on which way the person in question is. Steve takes a moment to consider what he says next.

“Did he… call himself that?”

“Sure. He wasn’t ashamed of what he was.”

“And… it didn’t bother you?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t put all my stock in closed circles, Rogers. Life’s too short.” He inclines his head to the side, not disagreeing, and takes another moment of comfortable silence to think through it. He hasn’t been awake long, but enough at least to contemplate the future. Fashions and attitudes are so strange now, but even so, he’s seen at least a few folks so far that captured his passing fancy, despite the weight of his recent (for him) loss. Abstractly, he can imagine some of them with a head in his lap, or kneeling at his feet, but never the reverse. He bites his lip and decides Natasha’s earned a confidence.

“I… well… I’ve kinda been wondering. Since I came out of the ice. If I might be… like that. Too. Just a protector—one way,” he says, swallowing down the uncomfortable feeling the term gives him in his gut. To his surprise, Natasha just snickers at him.

“Seriously?” He nods, but she grins back. “Bull _ shit _ you’re one way. What about Agent Carter?”

“Well… I mean… yes, but I just thought… maybe she was an aberration?”

Natasha laughs, open and gleeful, more relaxed than Steve’s seen her. “Take that back, Rogers. Peggy Carter was  _ not _ an aberration.” He smiles, just a little, and ducks his head slightly. They’ve told him that Peggy’s something of an icon now, especially among powerful women, and though he hasn’t been able to visit her yet, hasn’t had the balls if he’s honest, that’s easy to believe.

“It’s possible, though. She was a one-of-a-kind dame. And it’s a different time.”

“So?”

“So… it’s hard to think of myself, well, being someone’s bottom, now.” He blushes furiously, but forces himself to use his words. It’s less just being protected that he has trouble picturing, but the submission implied by the more casual term, a submission he’d definitely dreamed about when he imagined himself as  _ Peggy’s _ bottom.

“Take your time, then,” she suggests. “Trauma will do all sorts of things to what you desire.”

“So the therapists tell me,” Steve ribs, taking another large sip of his tea. It’s pleasant and minty, if unfamiliar. “You know… you might talk to Peggy some time,” he suggests. “I’m sure she’d have some perspective, on loss and all that. Maybe some ideas to help Agent Barton.” 

“Maybe. Like I said, it’s not my first rodeo. You know how it is.” 

Steve blows out a sharp breath, puffing one cheek. “I… not really. Not in the normal way. It’s still so sharp,” he admits. “I keep waking up, thinking they’ll be there. I’ll be looking forward to the dance Peggy promised me… we were still so new.”

“And Barnes?” she prompts, gentle. Still, he has to close his eyes against the memories.

“I… can’t. I don’t know how to…” He pauses, taking a few slow calming breaths as the therapists have recommended. Everytime he pictures Bucky’s smile it’s like a knife in his chest. “I know stability is important. Like you said, with Barton and Coulson—having two partners is supposed to balance you. I think it would have, if we’d had more time, but… he was my everything. And now he’s been dead for decades, and I don’t know how to grieve him.” Natasha gives him a sympathetic look, but now that the words are out, he just feels bone tired. “I… thank you for the tea, Agent Romanoff.” She just nods, and lets him rinse out his mug and make a tactical retreat. There won’t be much sleep for either of them tonight.


	2. Linking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha, Pepper, and JARVIS are all a little bossy, and Tony has a new proposition for Bruce. The kinky kind.
> 
> (D/s-toned flirting in this chapter, but we're not to the explicit stuff yet.)

**linking up**

verb

to form a new relationship 

_ Once Mary and Jill linked up, the circle was one step closer to complete. _

 

“Can you get us specs in three days?” Natasha asks, over the holographic video link in the lab Tony’s sharing with Bruce to work on various alien-debris-related projects. Tony waves a hand dismissively at her projected face. 

“Twenty-four hours, Madame Spooky Pants, and probably fewer than that. What do you take me for anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe an actual human being who needs sleep,” she snarks, rolling her eyes. “When was your last meal, anyway?"

“Uh… not too long ago…”

“Dinner last night,” Bruce substitutes, sounding distracted as he fiddles with a Chitauri blaster’s innards. 

“Traitor,” Tony hisses, but Bruce doesn’t even look up.

“Three days, Stark. Pace yourself, or I’ll have Pepper pace you.” 

Tony doesn’t even try to hide his full-body shiver as the link shuts down. It’s no real secret that he’d flirted with “Natalie Rushman” like it was his new job, fantasizing about the possibility of her as a middle for him and Pep, and even though her deceit had nixed any real chance of that happening, he can’t help the instinctive reaction he sometimes has to her getting bossy. It helps, of course, that he’s over the initial sting and having fought by her side, is slowly getting used to having the SHIELD agent on his team. Her skillset is unparalleled. 

Then again, he reasons as he goes back to tinkering with a readout of data on the debris’ chemical compositions, even without the pain of betrayal anything between the three of them would’ve been volatile at best. He doesn’t think he was wrong in his early assessment that Pepper might have been enough to take on Natalie—probably she still could top Natasha, if they were both into it, because Pepper’s Pepper. But Pepper is also  _ his _ now, and hell if he’s giving that up, even for the likes of Romanoff. He needs a protector he can trust implicitly, but also someone much steadier than his own internal hurricane. And it doesn’t hurt that Pepper is much more likely to care for his needs affectionately than shoot him in the kneecap for not eating often enough. 

Speaking of which…

“Tony. I despair of you.” 

“Darling, Peppadew, love of my life,” Tony starts cajoling without looking up. He can pretty much feel the eye roll without visual input, anyway, but he can’t help but take the tuna wrap when she expertly guides it into his hand as he swipes another screen away. 

“Don’t try me.”

“Whatever Natasha told you, it’s lies,” he insists, but does take a bite to stall her anger a bit. “Lies,” he repeats, mouth full. Bruce just snickers, loudly.

“Mr. Stark last consumed a hamburger with ketchup, onions, and pickle at 7:45 yesterday evening, Miss Potts. His water-to-coffee intake ratio has been quite minimal, and he is moderately dehydrated. In addition, the deficiency in vitamin B6, iron…”

“All right, J. That’s enough out of you,” Tony grumbles, eating another bite to further encourage JARVIS to shut the hell up. He’s used to the two of them tag-teaming him, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying. Pepper kisses his cheek and produces a bottle of water out of nowhere.

“Drink all of that, or you’re sleeping on the sofa tonight, Mr. Stark. Report back, will you, Bruce?”

“Of course.” Tony glares daggers at his lab-mate’s easy smile, but she’s leaving them to work in peace, at least. He growls slightly under his breath before taking another bite. 

“I swear to God, Banner.” Two more bites, and the wrap is demolished. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and sharpens his gaze. “You keep colluding with her, and I’m going to make you wish you hadn’t.”

“Is that a promise?” Bruce’s tone is soft, inquisitive, and he’s looking at the blaster again. Tony’s not even certain he realizes what he’s said, maybe it was instinctive, but Tony sure does. His gaze narrows, mental gears whirring away. Most of their discussions have been science-oriented, but the gleeful excitement between them whenever they start working in tandem, bouncing ideas around, might be construed as flirting by the geekiest of observers. Tony can’t deny that there’s something he’s attracted to in Bruce, that unassuming ease in the man that speaks softly of a beautiful kind of submission.

So he offers, “Maybe,” and when Bruce doesn’t respond, he decides to push. That’s what Tony does, after all. He abandons the screens, crossing the lab, because suddenly he has a new project. Putting a bit of the predator into his stride, he sidles up behind Bruce’s left shoulder. “How do you like to be dissuaded, exactly? Would a verbal order do it, or do you need more?” He  _ feels _ Bruce’s shiver, he’s close enough, but Bruce doesn’t look interested so much as wary when he glances back to look Tony in the eye.

“Tony.” His tone is depressingly serious, a bucket of cold water over the affair. “You know I can’t.” 

“Can’t what? Follow orders? Bet I can invent some motivational incentives, if you’re into that,” Tony grins. He’s nothing if not persistent.

“No.” Bruce sighs and takes a step to the right, putting space between them and sliding a finger and thumb up under his glasses to pinch his nose. “I like you, Tony. But I can’t date you.”

“Why?” Tony frowns. “Is the billionaire thing off-putting? The genius thing? Cause Bruce, babe, I’m pretty sure you’d test into Mensa yourself if you tried.”

This time, Bruce rolls his eyes. “No. If there’s one thing I can say for you, Stark, it’s that you’ve never intellectually intimidated me. It’s the other guy.”

“The other guy intellectually intimidates you? He has the vocabulary of a three-year-old.”

“The other guy… is why dating is out. Permanently.”

Tony frowns. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“Deadly serious,” Bruce agrees, his tone soft and resigned. Tony doesn’t like that at all. 

“But… you can’t just…  _ not date _ . Not forever!”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll find that I can, actually. I’ve been fine going without for the last few years and focusing on my work.”

“But… Bruce! You’re not seriously going to deny the world this sexy sciencey charm just because you’re afraid of going green and angry, are you? I mean… there have to be safe ways you could play.”

“Maybe,” Bruce concedes. “But finding them would require trials. And there’s no safe way to conduct those trials.” 

This time, Tony’s eyes light up a bit with the gleam of silence. “There you go… trials.” He grins and takes a step back into Bruce’s personal space, this time ignoring the wary expression on the man’s face. “I’m good at trials. We could go super slow. Excruciatingly slow.”

“Yeah? And what happens when you suddenly find yourself with a Code Green situation?”

“We could allow for that. We’ve already got your Hulk-proof room. What if we messed around in there, with the suit ready to deploy? I’d be totally safe.”

“I don’t know, Tony. I can’t…” His eyes drop to the floor, and his cheeks turn a bit pink.  _ Yes _ , Tony cheers internally.  _ I’m in _ . “I really can’t hurt you.”

“You won’t. Listen… I think you can play safely. You just… need the Hulk to believe it’s safe, right? He doesn’t come out unless you’re threatened, so… we play to that. We focus on making you feel safe,” Tony suggests, his voice dropping in register just a bit, hands coming up slowly to grasp at Bruce’s hips. A measured inhale tells him that it’s working. “I’d really like to make you feel safe,” he purrs, leaning closer so that his mouth is at Bruce’s ear. “I’d like to make the other guy feel safe, too.” Bruce tenses, but doesn’t shove Tony away, so he goes with it. “You know, they do say that restraint breeds creativity…”

“No restraints,” Bruce interjects quickly, but his breathing is a little quicker, and his skin is a little redder. Tony grins and leans back to look Bruce in the eye.

“Dirty. I only meant the limitations, but now I really want to see the picture your mind just spun up,” he suggests, slowly licking his lips. Bruce’s eyes dart down predictably and Tony leans in, telegraphing his movements clearly. The first kiss is soft, subtle. He only gives them a couple of inches’ space before he continues. “Say you’ll let me set it up. Super slow, I promise. Suit at the ready. Hulk-proof room. JARVIS on call.” 

Bruce closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath, and then lets it out. “Yes,” he agrees, a bare whisper, and Tony’s chest jumps underneath the arc reactor.  _ Date night is go. _


	3. Balancing Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Wilson shows up at exactly the right time, and not just because Steve and Natasha need some help saving the world.
> 
> There's a bit of R-rated stuff in this chapter, courtesy of one Agent Maria Hill, though mostly I'm a tease.

**balancing out**

verb

to find a partner of the opposite type to an existing partner, thereby making the subject’s link relationships complete

_ Joe had been exclusively Liam’s protected for so long that he was relieved when he found Corey to protect, thereby balancing out his relationships.  _

 

“Need a medic?” Steve’s grin as he stands over the panting black man leaning up against a tree in a grey Air National Guard shirt and green running shorts is all cheek. He hasn’t had quite so much fun with a stranger in a while, the man’s playful repartee at each “On your left” as he lapped around the tidal basin reminding him of the way he’d goaded some of his Army buddies back in the day. And the man’s open laugh at Steve’s introduction is something else, all casual warmth despite how Steve had been ribbing him throughout the run. 

“I need a new set of lungs,” the guy responds easily, after another moment to catch his breath. “Dude, you just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes.” 

“Guess I got a late start,” Steve responds without missing a beat. But when the man tells him that he should be ashamed of himself, teasing or no, something warms in his belly that he hasn’t felt in quite some time, certainly not in the two years he’s been thawed out this decade. He maybe stares a bit, even as the stranger’s still joking with him about his speed. “What unit you with?” Steve asks, hoping to divert just a bit. 

“58th pararescue. But now I’m working down at the VA.” Steve nods, and the man offers his hand. “Sam Wilson.” 

“Steve Rogers.” The hand is sweaty, obviously, as he tugs Sam up, but it’s not unpleasant. Unfortunately, Sam’s next comment is about the ice, and what bit of warmth had bubbled up quickly shuts down. He’s learned how to deflect, and he turns to go, but Sam’s next question throws him off guard.

“It’s your bed, right?” 

“What’s that?” The conversation’s unexpected enough, when Sam talks about the softness of mattresses, and Steve realizes he hasn’t spoken to another veteran about his service since he came home. In New York, he didn’t really bother making friends outside the Tower, beyond the pleasant familiarity with servers and baristas at his favorite spots, and SHIELD has been all about business, mission by mission and day by day. He finds himself responding, letting himself continue talking to Sam without too much thought to it, and is almost sad when he gets Natasha’s text. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s about to see Peggy that has his submissive side unexpectedly coming up to the surface, but he can’t deny that’s what it is, not when Sam leaves him with another gentle bit of teasing. 

“That’s how it is?”

“Oh, that’s how it is.”

Sam laughs and narrows his gaze a bit, still smiling. “Yeah, well, any time you wanna stop by the VA, make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk, just let me know. Or, if you’ve got something else in mind…” He draws the offer out, fishing out a wallet, never breaking eye contact, and Steve feels that warmth soak him right through again. “My personal card.” His eyebrows lift a bit, and Steve takes it, just has it in his pocket when Natasha squeals to a stop. Sam flirts a bit with her, too, and Steve would feel a spike of jealousy, except that his tone is very different, easy, and it doesn’t rile him. Maybe because he knows Natasha well enough by now, knows she’s still got her hands full with Clint.

“Well?” she pulls away from the curb and gives him one of her spy looks that pierces straight through his skin.

“Don’t even say it,” he mutters, and she laughs knowingly.

“Busted…” 

~*~

It’s later, of course, that seals it. Without so much as a first date to give him a bit of obligation, Sam lets Steve and Natasha run roughshod right over his normal peacetime life as soon as they’re in trouble, and the look of joy he gets when he tries out the wings again for the first time makes Steve think he just might be embarrassingly in love at (almost) first sight. Every protective advance he’s encountered since coming up out of the ice has just felt  _ wrong _ for some reason, and even seeing Peggy didn’t remind him much of those feelings of wanting to be on his knees for her, back in the day. But Sam is a different kind of protector, brash flirtation but also a sort of softness that most men don’t show their protected partners. He’s a caretaker, through and through, and Steve can’t help but feel that Sam is a kind of top he didn’t even know to  _ look _ for.

Natasha’s comfortable with him, and given her very discerning judgement, that’s a kind of vote in Sam’s favor that Steve can appreciate. He’s worried about her, when they first clean up at Sam’s house, with a kind of big brother need to protect and shield his circle, even if she isn’t technically circle—if nothing else, she’s team, and he’s used to being team leader. He feels guilty about not trusting her more fully up to now, and the pain in her eyes acutely echoes his own. But she doesn’t shy away from Sam, even in her justifiably paranoid state, and that says something. 

The three of them fight together like they were born doing it, and when the dust has settled, they end up back at Sam’s house, though this time Steve is the one looking around blankly, numb with shock. He healed up, at the hospital, but he doesn’t feel whole. Still, Sam seems to know what to do, settling Steve on the couch and disappearing into the kitchen. He comes back twenty minutes later with a plate of pancakes, sits next to Steve, and lets one hand come up to stroke at Steve’s hair and the nape of his neck while he eats. Steve lets out what feels like all the breath in his lungs and relaxes minutely into the soft touches, forcing himself to take a few sweet, fluffy bites. They’re like that for a while, Steve eating, Sam petting, and they haven’t talked about it but Steve thinks they’re as good as linked up, now, after all this. They’ll figure out exactly what it means, platonic or romantic, sexual or not, later. When his plate’s empty, he lets Sam take it away and curls up against one side of the sofa, eyes drifting shut. Still, he’s awake when Sam comes back into the living room, finally addresses Natasha. 

“What about you, then? Can I do anything for you?” She’s quiet long enough that Steve stops paying attention, but then his eyes snap open at a sudden heavy thud to his left. He looks up and Natasha’s suddenly got Sam roughly pinned against his own wall, t-shirt rucked up, her nails scraping sharply across his abdomen as she kisses the air out of him. Steve can’t help but stare, and it lasts maybe four seconds before she pops away like she’s been stung, falling back into her armchair and scrubbing her hands over her face.

“Sorry… sorry.  _ Fuck _ .” Sam looks about as dazed as anyone would, but he seems to come back to himself after a few blinks and crouches down instead, back facing Steve, next to her chair. Steve closes his eyes to give them some privacy, but he can still hear their whispered conversation.

“Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.” Sam’s voice is soothing as always, but also a bit shaky, aroused. Steve can’t blame him, after a claiming display like that. “Are you…?”

“I can’t. I can’t start something right now.” She sounds genuinely apologetic. “I fucking  _ want _ to,” she admits. “I mean I really want to… damnit.” 

“It’s okay.”   


“It’s not,” she counters, sharp. “The things I want to do to you…”

“But… you can’t?” Sam prompts.

“I’m in a relationship. I’m the protector in a relationship,” she clarifies. “With another agent.” 

“He straight?” Sam asks, his own tone a little sharp.  _ Trust no one _ , Steve’s learned over the past few days, and he hates even the idea that it could apply to an Avenger.

“A hundred percent. But… he went through a really hard time a couple of years ago, and he’s still getting back on his feet. He needs me, until he finds someone else.”

“I guess you’re… pretty traditional?”

She barks a laugh, loud compared to their voices. “Yeah, no. I know some people do the two bottoms thing, I’m not opposed to it, but that’s not going to work in this situation. And I don’t think this gets to count as just fooling around across a circle, either.” 

“Okay.” Sam sounds a little sad.

“I’m not saying never. Just... I miss what I had,” Natasha admits. “Being between two of them. And I also want something new. But Clint lost a lot, and all this betrayal is only going to bring that back up to the surface. I can’t leave him right now, and I can’t try to split it between two people, or start up a casual thing.”

“I get it. I’m okay if… well. Would you mind if I waited?” Steve can picture Sam’s boyish smile, followed by a gentler laugh from Natasha.

“You’re serious.”

“You’re something else, Romanoff. And I want to know more about those… things. You want to do to me.” There’s a pause, a sharp inhale of breath from Sam, like she’s in fact done something to him, something painful, and then he goes quiet. 

“All right,” she agrees, silky smooth, and Steve shifts his hand just a bit to hide a smile.

~*~

Natasha really, really hates that she can’t have Sam Wilson right the fuck now. So much so that it takes her less than 24 hours to show up at Maria Hill’s apartment door, expression set in determination, boots planted on the welcome mat. 

“I need you to fuck me,” she says in lieu of an actual greeting, and Maria’s smile is like a shark’s. She turns on her heel, and Natasha follows without another word. If she can’t hold Sam down, hurt him until he cries and then ride him until he passes out, at least she can have this. This doesn’t get in the way of what she has with Clint, and she and Maria have been dancing around it for years, even before Coulson...well. Natasha thinks Phil might have even given her to Maria, eventually, but it’s too late for any of that now. 

“Do you need it to hurt?” Maria asks, slamming Natasha back into the present with a hand on her sternum, back against the wall much like she’d had Wilson yesterday. Except unlike yesterday, Maria looms over her a bit, fearlessly competent and calm despite the newness of it.

“Yes,” Natasha hisses, and Maria just shoves a thigh up between Natasha’s, shifting her up the wall.

“Okay,” Maria agrees. Maria’s been through just as much, these past few days, if not much, much more. If Natasha feels turned upside down by HYDRA’s infiltration, unsure of who to trust, needing an outlet for all the uncertainty, well, she’s not the only one. Maria’s vicious little smile is undeniably pleased.


	4. Rusted Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is all Stucky feels. And also, Sam is a good bro. Metamour. Thing.

**rusted over**

adjective

a relationship that has gone stale or distant over time, sometimes due to absence

_ When Tristan moved away for the scholarship, his link with Judy rusted over despite frequent phone calls. _

 

Nothing was ever going to be normal again after Sam met Steve Rogers. Sam should’ve expected it—did, maybe. Maybe it was the whole reason he came on so flirtatious in the first place, when they met by chance that morning in D.C. Either way, he’s in deep now, with not one but two super soldiers living in his house, eating his food, both trying to recover in peace.

Or, well, maybe neither of them are really trying. Bucky mostly seems exhausted, from what little Sam’s actually seen of him. He’s often behind their closed guest bedroom door when Sam goes to work, and in the evenings he isn’t much more present. Steve insists that he’s coming back to himself, little by little, but slower than Steve would like as Bucky shakes off the mental programming and (Sam’s pretty sure) comes face-to-face with the PTSD.

Steve, on the other hand, won’t admit that he  _ needs _ healing, no matter how much Sam tries to wheedle it out of him with quiet late night talks and gentling massages. He’s got Bucky so stuck in the victim role, in his mind, that he can’t break himself out of that familiar macho attitude of needing to be strong for his friend, brushing his own troubles aside. Sam’s seen it enough in veterans, and though he won’t cross the line and offer his boyfriend counseling, he can’t turn a blind eye to it, either. SHIELD’s betrayal hurt Steve to the core, and Sam’s betting the only reason he isn’t adrift in an emotional sea right now is that he’s got Bucky as his lifeline, his bit of home. The two of them wake up screaming or gasping about equally as often, and Sam isn’t entirely sure what to do about it. It feels like he’s constantly reminding Steve that Bucky’s recovery will be slow, that he shouldn’t expect too much, but at the same time some days Bucky seems to be the more stable of the two of them. 

Wednesday nights, he runs a group session in the evening at the VA, and after one session he ends up getting a burger with an old friend, though not without texting Steve that he’ll be home late. The burger turns into a few beers, and Sam’s man enough to admit to himself that he needed this, an evening to loosen up and get his mind elsewhere for a little while. Walking home from the Metro station, he almost dives for cover when he notices the silhouette in his backyard. Swaying a few steps, he then realizes it’s Bucky, hands in his pocket, barefoot in the grass wearing a hoodie and jeans. Sam frowns and veers over to meet him.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Bucky’s smile is gently amused. “Need a hand?”

“Fuck off,” Sam grins, amiably sidling up to him. “Did your friendly local puppy dog finally decide to give you some breathing room?” he teases, and Bucky barks out a laugh. 

“He’s asleep.”

“Ah. Sorry, did you want privacy?”

Bucky shrugs. “Not really. S’fine. Did you have a good night?”

“Yeah. Just dinner and drinks with an old friend, but… it was nice. Nobody blew anything up. My life’s gotten weird lately, y’know?”

“Sorry.”

Sam shakes his head. “Not your fault, man. Wouldn’t trade it. Sure as hell wouldn’t trade Steve.” 

Although he’s not looking at Bucky, he can feel the man’s eyes on him for a long time before he speaks again, his voice a bit rough. “You’re good for him.” 

“Yeah. I am. He needs more than just me, though.”

Bucky hunches in on himself a bit, Sam notices out of the corner of his eye. “I know. I’m trying, but… I’m not ready to…”

“Oh, Jesus, no, man, I didn’t mean you. I wasn’t talking about… your relationship. I meant therapy, or something. Professional support. More friends.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Have you told him, though?” Sam asks gently. “That you’re not ready?”

“Yeah.” Bucky puffs out a sigh. “Says he’ll wait. Might… be waiting a long time, though.”

“His choice,” Sam reasons. “Doesn’t mean you need to speed up any. He’s a big boy.”

“It’s hard. I keep… I remember more things. These little bits, but they’re hazy. They come in and then I lose them. Steve thinks the programming’s wearing off, that eventually I’ll be 100% old Bucky, but that’s kind of bullshit. Even if I remember, I won’t be…”

“You’re not the same man,” Sam picks up when Bucky doesn’t continue. “I think… he knows that. But he’s afraid to admit it. Not,” he continues quickly when Bucky tries to speak again, “because he doesn’t want you to change. I think he wants you in any way he can have you. But because he doesn’t want to admit that  _ he’s _ not the same man he was when you were linked up before. He’s taking it hard. He won’t say it, but…”

“His nightmares aren’t just about me,” Bucky says slowly, with a tone in his voice that suggests it’s the first time he’s considered it.

“No,” Sam agrees. “He… I can’t tell you who told me this, but he was having nightmares before you ever popped back up again. He’s been lost for a while now, and I don’t think he knows how to be in this century, yet. But he feels like he’s gotta be Captain America, icon of stability and mental health, or some shit.”

Bucky snorts under his breath, and they meet each other’s eyes again. “Sounds about right. He never did… well…” He trails off like he sometimes does when a memory’s not fully formed, but unlike Steve Sam doesn’t try to prompt him to complete it. He lets the moment pass, tracking the nighttime neighborhood sounds and rubbing his hands over his arms to ward off the slight chill. 

“Have you thought about what you might want, with him?” Sam asks. “There’s no rule that says you  _ have _ to link back up because you were before.”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s not really…  _ back _ for him, is it? I mean, he takes care of me like I were his… like we were…” Bucky pauses, his metal hand clenching into a fist and slowly releasing. “I can’t let someone have control of me, like that. Not right now.”

“Then don’t. It’s your choice.”

Bucky nods. “It feels like things might be lurking in the shadows, of all these fragmented memories. Like… one part of me has this instinctive draw to Steve, like it’s so obvious, and then another part doesn’t even know the guy, and I know we used to have a sexual relationship, I know we used to have a romantic relationship, he used to top me, and I just…  _ can’t _ . I can’t do that. He tried to kiss me, I don’t think he even noticed, it was just…  _ natural  _ to him. But I couldn’t.”

“That’s good, then. That’s good that you know. What your boundaries are.” 

“I could’ve hurt him, though. I could’ve reacted badly.”

“Did you?”

Bucky doesn’t answer, but Sam thinks that his silence likely concedes the point. He lets it draw out another minute or so, and then notices the growing pressure in his bladder. He reaches out slowly, telegraphing the movement, to clap Bucky on the back. “I’m headed inside, man. Stay out here as long as you like.” Bucky doesn’t answer verbally, but he nods, and Sam figures it’ll be good for him to think on what they’ve discussed a bit. Sometimes things just get clearer in the morning.


	5. Link-Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can probably tell from the title, but we're going to take a sharp turn into the explicit rating. Here be D/s porn, and if you're not into that, you could skip this chapter and really not miss anything plot-wise, as it's kind of summarized in the next chapter. Clint and Bucky win no awards for proper BDSM negotiation, but are eagerly consenting, and just the fuck gone on each other.

**link-fuck**

noun

a first-time sexual encounter that forms a link between two people, often of a frantic or aggressive nature

_ They’d been giving each other eyes for months, so the link-fuck that closed the circle seemed inevitable to their partners. _

 

They live together for three months in D.C. before the decision is made to relocate to New York and Tony Stark’s monstrosity of a skyscraper. From Bucky’s perspective, almost nothing about the plan could be classified as a  _ great _ thing, but there is the advantage of better security than Sam’s modest suburban house can offer and the maintenance and upgrades Stark almost immediately offers for his arm. Having all of the Avengers in one building, most of the time, means that Steve has more things to distract him from doting on Bucky, and he gradually starts actually allowing those distractions. Plus, there’s more privacy here, enough space that he has his own apartment, even if he does still share a floor with Steve and Sam, and (since nobody bothers to stock their own kitchens) eats most meals in the common area they share with Romanoff and Barton. The latter two share the floor above, but it’s accessible through a staircase in the center of the layout, not just the elevator banks, and half the time Barton just drops out of one of the vents like a goddamn ninja.

Then, Bucky’s not really one to talk. He has half a dozen odd spots of his own scattered around the floor, both in the common areas and in his own apartment. He still hasn’t been able to shake the comfort of a perch, or a nest, or just somewhere he can watch social activity unnoticed and decide on his own whether to participate. The therapist they’ve stuck him with doesn’t consider it maladaptive behavior, and even if she did, he wouldn’t stop. So he understands Barton’s odd physical behavior better than most. Still, it is a little disquieting when he finds Barton curled up on top of the massive fridge when he goes to root out a pint of ice cream, or wedged between a sofa he was planning to sit on and the wall.

It doesn’t help that Barton’s behavior, whenever he’s caught off guard,  _ screams _ submissive. Bucky’s always—well, he can’t say always, he doesn’t very well know, but definitely since he came to himself again and started breaking the Soldier programming has found it hard not to notice submissive behavior. He doesn’t usually feel a need to  _ do _ anything about it, but it’s there, an instinctive awareness of how a person like that displays their physical vulnerabilities, a knowledge of what might make them burn. He sees it in people on the street, in meetings with remaining SHIELD personnel as they’re trying to determine his status, but rarely combined with the kind of deadly competence he’s witnessed in Barton. Barton might have vulnerabilities, but he’s not helpless. Half of his quirks speak to self-protection, independence, long experience of his own submissive-leaning nature and strategies developed to bolster himself against it. He jokes around with the team, but he doesn’t take shit from outsiders. Bucky’s seen footage of him destroying scores of aliens with nothing but a bow and arrows, confidently diving off buildings in stunts that would leave almost anyone else stone cold dead. None of this makes him want to put Clint Barton on his knees any less.

Also, Bucky hasn’t gotten laid in a  _ really _ long time. So it shouldn’t be surprising when it all comes to a head late one night, headed to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Barton’s standing there, silent, when he rounds the corner, and Bucky pins him to the wall without conscious thought, hand on a broad chest, face inches from the agent’s. He could let go, back down, apologize, blame defensive instincts, but he doesn’t. He looks Barton straight in the eyes and notices that Barton isn’t bothering to defend himself, isn’t shoving Bucky away. He’s no slouch in a fight; Bucky’s seen him spar. He slides his hand up, slowly, towards Clint’s throat, and the man just holds his gaze and lifts his chin.

And then Bucky’s on him, mouth and muscle pressed up against the hard body between him and the wall. He licks Clint’s mouth open, tongue-fucks him without any particular finesse and relishes the way Clint’s body jerks when Bucky’s flesh hand closes over his throat. He doesn’t push Bucky away, though. Bucky groans, rubs his thumb over Clint’s Adam’s apple. 

“You always look like trouble,” he murmurs when he pulls back enough to give the man room to breathe, and Clint grins at him.

“Sir.”

Bucky indulges in one more kiss, teeth tugging at Clint’s bottom lip, and then shoves him to his knees. His own knee pins Clint’s chest, pushes hard enough to be uncomfortable, but Clint still doesn’t complain. He lets Bucky grab him by the hair, tip his head back, shove his flesh thumb into that pretty smirking mouth. He sucks like a champ, and Bucky lets him pull the thumb deep enough that he can hook his fingers under Clint’s jaw, trapping him there. He pushes down against Clint’s tongue, immediately starts running through scenarios of what he could do to this man. The most obvious has him slowly dragging his knee down Clint’s sternum, relishing the whine around his thumb, and at the same time bringing his boot down until it presses up right against Clint’s cock. 

“You want me to fuck you?” Bucky asks, his voice coming out unintentionally low and rumbly. Clint groans an affirmative response, bites gently at the pad of muscle below Bucky’s thumb and looks up at him with wide, accepting eyes. It probably shouldn’t be so easy, but Bucky isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He wants to  _ wreck _ this boy, and the boy isn’t complaining. 

Hauling Clint up bodily, Bucky drags him into another kiss, but this time starts walking them towards the door to his own suite, stumbling a bit as they kiss roughly, hands wandering, and refusing to let go in the name of better navigation. At least the lock responds to his thumbprint, and as soon as they’re behind a closed door he uses his body to manhandle Clint down onto the thick carpet, twisting him face down and crouching over him with the flesh hand tight in Clint’s hair, just long enough on top to allow him a solid grip. Clint groans, but doesn’t resist as Bucky mashes his cheek against the side of Bucky’s boot, and then the boy’s turning his head, taking the pain of resistance against his scalp in order to be able to lick a leather instep. Bucky’s chest flares with want, and he lets up just enough to give Clint room, bracing the metal hand against the floor so that he can shift his weight and move his back foot to Clint’s mid-back, applying enough pressure to just hinder the man’s breathing. Clint whimpers something like need, tongue painting sloppy strokes along the boot leather, and then his cheek just nuzzles at it, face smashed against carpet. Bucky realizes he’s clasped his hands at his low back behind Bucky’s heel, instinctively, and the bed suddenly feels too fucking far away. His hand shifts, clamps around the back of Clint’s neck, squeezes, and the volume of the boy’s desperate sounds only increases. 

“Please,” Clint gasps, and Bucky shifts the sole that’s pinning him back to the ground, rolls Clint over without moving out of his own crouch.

“What will you give me?” Bucky demands, low and raspy and probably sharper than he’s supposed to be with a submissive he barely knows, but Clint’s response is immediate.

“Anything,” he gasps, eyes glassy in the bare moonlight coming through the window. Bucky licks his lips, but he’s still got half an inch of sanity left, and he slaps Clint hard across the cheek.

“No.” He catches Clint by the jaw, holds him tight in the flesh hand that just slapped him. “Try again.” 

Clint’s stare is, if such a thing is possible, even more hungry, but this time he does respond more rationally. “No blindfolds. Can’t hear that great, so make sure I understand you if you tell me to do something. No piss or shit, don’t do anything that’s going to keep me from responding to a call to assemble.” Bucky waits, wanting to give Clint time to think up any limits he hasn’t listed, but the boy is silent until the pause grows long enough that his impatience rears up again. “ _ Please _ ,” Clint begs. “I need this.”

Bucky can see that he does. Bucky sure as fuck does, too, but he doesn’t say that, just reaches for the hem of Clint’s t-shirt and tugs it over his head. For good measure, he shoves two fingers into Clint’s mouth as he reaches behind himself to tug down Clint’s sweats, and there’s a kind of awkward shifting as Clint tries to help him kick the damned things off and Bucky refuses to re-position and lose the wet sucking heat of Clint’s mouth. Sex makes him stupid, but he doesn’t really care. Clint isn’t wearing underwear. That feels more important than being graceful, right at the moment.

“Nnngh!” Clint hums around Bucky’s fingers when Bucky grips his cock in a cool metal fist, not moving but gently squeezing. He’d need a glove to do more, but this is a mindfuck and Clint seems to like it if the way he pushes up and deliberately chokes himself a little on Bucky’s fingers is any indication. Bucky curses, has to let go just to avoid losing his balance. That suction combined with the boy’s sheer eagerness has everything in him churning overdrive, demanding that he  _ take. _ He can’t even remember whether he had this much of a dominant need before he was the Soldier, and dangerous or not, he doesn’t actually care.

“I must really be crazy,” he huffs out, balancing again on his hand and leaning in to lick around his own knuckles, at Clint’s pursed lips. “I want…” He cuts himself off, though, not wanting to freak Clint out, and he would have forgotten it if Clint didn’t slip back off, eyes sharp on Bucky’s. 

“Tell me.” 

“No, I…”

“Goddamnit,  _ tell  _ me,” Clint insists, and then he leans up and gives Bucky a kiss that’s all dirty, tongues and desire, and what he’d meant not to say just slips out in a murmured confession against Clint’s mouth.

“Want to own you,” he breathes. “Want to fucking… goddamnit, I want…”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Clint groans, seemingly without pause for the fact that Bucky is obviously psychotic, moving way too fast, and bites at his lips, arches up until his torso presses into the cage of Bucky’s thighs. “I  _ need _ ...take me,” Clint demands, and Bucky loses any semblance of patience he might have had up until this moment. He flips Clint again, scuttles down his body, and thumbs the boy’s ass open, spitting directly onto his hole a few times. It won’t be the same as real lube, but it’s quick and efficient and Clint  _ keens _ as Bucky works him open with his flesh fingers, the other palm pressing into his back with the digits spread. Clint’s rubbing his face against the soft carpet, muttering little pleas and cries until Bucky finally deems him good e-fucking-nough and gets his dick out one-handed, kneeling over Clint’s body and tugging his hips up with both hands until the boy finds his knees. 

“Condom?” Bucky asks, and Clint shakes his head. 

“I trust your immune system,” he explains, and that’s good enough for Bucky. He can’t contract or carry STIs, and if Clint’s aware of that, he’s not enough of a Boy Scout to insist.

Still, Bucky really had intended to make it to the bed, but he can apologize later for the roughness. Right now all he has the presence of mind for is shoving Clint’s thighs apart with his knees, lining up and pushing in rough and slow, his flesh fingers gripping Clint’s hip hard enough to bruise. Halfway in, he grips with his other hand as well, and he’s careful enough not to cause real damage with the strength of his hold, but that’s about it. He starts fucking into Clint on his knees, back straight, but before long he’s bending over the broad back in front of him, finding spots to bite and leaving claiming marks all over back and shoulders. He ends up at the nape of Clint’s neck, his favorite spot, where he tilts his head and digs in nice and slow with his teeth, gradually increasing pressure as Clint starts to cry out in earnest. And then— _ there— _ it comes, that sudden jerk followed by a wave of limp relaxation when the boy’s body gives completely into the pain, chest dropping lower even as his ass pushes up and back to meet Bucky’s increasingly frantic little thrusts. He can’t get much leverage, draped over Clint like this, but he doesn’t care, likes using his body like this to surround his partner. He shifts the metal hand to brace against the floor, then presses the other to the boy’s open mouth.

“Lick,” Bucky growls and Clint does so enthusiastically, his body starting to tremble with need. Once his palm’s slick enough, Bucky shifts it to grip Clint’s cock, jerking him in rhythm with each thrust. Clint’s cries return, little broken needy bursts of voice that Bucky encourages with another bite, clenching against the wave of desire in his balls until Clint finally shouts out full-throated and starts to release over his hand. Only then does he finally relax and let his own orgasm go, teeth pressing so hard against Clint’s neck that he tastes blood before he relaxes his jaw. 

“Fuck,” Bucky whispers, hips pressed all the way up against Clint’s ass, barely able to hold any of his own weight up. Clint just whimpers in response, but it’s pleased, and his face is turned to the side so that Bucky can see his contented smile. “You’re bleeding, a bit,” he admits, licking at the blood because he can’t help himself. Clint just laughs, a soft pleased sound.

“Not a limit,” he mumbles, only half-coherent, and Bucky decides that he is very, very lucky.

It takes more than half an hour to get them both untangled, off the floor, hydrated, and fed enough of a snack that they’ll be able to sleep without waking up hungry. Bucky strips naked despite his self-consciousness about the scars, decides Clint’s earned that, and helps Clint under the covers where he can’t stop himself from stroking over the marks he’s made, thumb pressing into indentations of teeth and bruises. 

“Was that… okay?” Bucky asks after a while, nerves suddenly flaring to the surface as he realizes how raw he’s been, how much of himself he put on the line. “What I said, about…” He can’t quite bring voice to it, now, with the rush of fear he feels, but he’s more surprised to see the same fear echoed back at him in Clint’s expression.

“You heard me. Were you not… was that just a heat of the moment thing?” Clint sounds almost angry, his body tense, and Bucky shakes his head, decides to be fully vulnerable even if it could backfire.

“No. I want you for  _ mine _ . I… wouldn’t have, otherwise…” He rubs over the mark that bled, eyes locked on Clint’s. “I want to own you,” Bucky repeats, this time in a mostly sober frame of mind. The expression he gets back, somewhat to his surprise, shows nothing but relief.

“Thank Christ,” Clint mutters, and snuggles up to Bucky’s chest again. “I need that,” he admits. “I need… to be selfish, this time.”

“Selfish?”

Clint’s silent for a moment, hand idly stroking at Bucky’s belly. When he does speak, it’s soft and a little uncertain. “How much do you know about Phil Coulson?”

“The handler who died,” Bucky says, matter-of-fact. His hand shifts to stroke Clint’s hair. “Romanoff was middle to the two of you. Steve...said you’d been taking it harder than her. But that’s all I know.” 

“He was more than that. He… I was  _ his _ ,” Clint explains. “In every way you can be somebody’s. Just the two of us. No circle or anything, but fuck if I cared. And then we found Natasha, and she was… really fucked. As bad as you when you came to Sam and Steve, I think. Maybe worse.” 

Bucky makes a small sound in acknowledgement. Clint wasn’t there, doesn’t know anything about how Bucky was one way or another except second-hand, but he understands the meaning. He remembers Natalia, he’s pretty sure, in flashes. He remembers her from the Red Room, and that says enough. 

“She needed grounding, bad. SHIELD alone wasn’t going to cut it. One partner wasn’t going to cut it. And I knew Phil… he could help her. What she needed from a protector at that moment, pretty much nobody could provide.” 

“So you let her in between you?”

Clint nods against Bucky’s chest. “It was supposed to be temporary. It wasn’t. Losing him… didn’t fucking matter how much tough shit I’d already been through, losing him broke me. I’m doing better at surviving, but I’m not the person I was before that battle and I’m never going to be again. It doesn’t even matter that it’s been so many years since he protected me, directly, I just… I always had the future as a hope. I didn’t think it mattered if it took a while until it happened. But I’ve felt like a husk of myself for the last two years, and I can’t… I need…”

“You need to belong to someone,” Bucky completes, feeling the slightly panicked tension in Clint’s limbs again. He holds him harder, one leg wrapping around both of Clint’s and his hand finding the back of Clint’s neck.

“I need to belong to someone I want,” Clint counters. “Like this. I need… to be wanted like this.” His voice is a little unsure, but Bucky thinks it’s a good sign that Clint recognizes it in his behavior.

“Good,” Bucky murmurs. “Because I want you… more than is probably sane. Just like this. I need… to be in control. But also...” Bucky pauses, trying to mentally quantify what it is about Clint exactly that gives him this feeling of being more settled than he has been since escaping HYDRA’s control. “You’re perfect,” he finally settles on, giving up on specificity. “If you’ll let me, I want you to be mine. Not just as a protected, but...I want you to be my submissive. Specifically.”

“Mm-hmm,” Clint agrees, kissing just below Bucky’s heart, and improbably he feels something physically release there. “Done and done.”


	6. Migration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not necessarily normal that Clint getting laid solves all of Natasha's relationship problems, but it doesn't hurt.

**migration**

noun

the process of one or more person(s) in a circle moving from one part of the circle to another, forming relationships with different partners that are still part of the same circle

_ Jackie had been dating Kenneth for a year when they decided to end their relationship, but rather than leaving the circle, she migrated between Kendra and Rosie. _

 

When Natasha shows up at the door to his apartment, Sam can instantly see that some enormous intangible weight has been lifted from her shoulders. One, she’s beaming at him in a very uncharacteristic way, but it’s more than just that—she looks lighter, more relaxed. He gives her an inquisitive look, but can’t help his own smile, stepping aside to let her enter.

“Bucky hooked up with Clint. Last night. They had some epic link-fuck and then Clint showed up after breakfast looking like a freaking puppy asking me if I’m okay with him migrating.” 

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. “Clint and Bucky? Really? Huh.”

“Yeah, I didn’t expect Barnes to jump into a relationship either, at least not with someone other than Steve, but there it is. Apparently they’re head over heels for each other. Or… boot over ass, maybe,” she snickers, and Sam scrubs a hand over his forehead.

“Right… images… I did not need…”

“So, soldier,” Natasha interrupts him, grin bright, cocky. One moment she’s standing a foot away from him in the living room, and the next he’s stumbling backwards, landing on his ass on his own sofa, and with a sudden lap full of Romanoff. “Speaking of link-fucks… you been waiting patiently for me?” Her small hand presses into the center of his chest, and his dick is definitely ready to stand to attention. 

“I… yeah,” Sam agrees. “You still…”

“Hell, yes,” she says before he can finish his question, and then her mouth’s on his and the woman does not mess around, her kiss as fierce and demanding as he remembers. Not that he’s been thinking about it in vivid detail, several nights a week, for the past six months or anything.

“You got anywhere to be?” Natasha asks, and Sam’s hard-pressed to remember his  _ calendar  _ when she’s dragging his shirt up over his head, nails raking down his chest none-too-gently.

“JARVIS?” he gasps, and he probably only imagines the sarcasm in the AI’s response.

“Your only appointment is at three pm, at the Veterans Administration.” Oh, right. Well, showing up well-fucked to a job interview isn’t the  _ worst _ thing he’s ever done.

“I’m free till two,” he tells her. “No marks above the collar.”

“That’s remarkably open-ended,” Natasha teases, grin wicked, and then her fingers are pinching at his nipple and his head falls back against the cushions with a  _ thump _ .

“Jesus, woman.” 

“Mm. We’re just getting started. I have a lot of pent-up aggression to fuck out, Wilson, you gonna let me?”

“Yeah,” he gasps at a twist to the other nipple. “Just… maybe don’t expect me to be able to  _ do _ much if you’re gonna… oh fuck.” Somehow, she manages to laugh even as she’s biting his collarbone, her teeth vicious against the thin layer of skin. 

“No expectations,” she promises. “Just be a good boy and take it for me. Noise is encouraged.” 

“Right… got it… you, uh… need anything? Supplies, or…?” He’s not going to suggest a condom, directly, has pretty much no idea what kind of sex she likes and doesn’t want to presume, but no one likes having to stop in the middle of things to take precautions either.

“Not this time. You gonna stop me if I want to ride your face?”

“Sweet Jesus, no.”

She just grins and pats his cheek a little condescendingly. “Then we’re good. Lay back and let me hurt you, now.”

Not one to argue, Sam just does as he’s told.

~*~

“You look happy.” Maria pauses a beat, then screws up her nose a bit. “It’s  _ weird _ .”

Natasha just laughs, shoves her lightly, and lets herself into Maria’s guest suite. It’s luck that has Maria in New York right now, staying at the Tower because it’s both secure and convenient to her highly classified meetings with Steve and Tony. They’ve been seeing each other when they’re in the same city, but that’s less often than Natasha might like, both of them traveling frequently for both official and unofficial business in the aftermath of the Triskelion. “I just had epically good sex,” she announces. “I’m allowed to be happy.”

“What, with  _ Clint _ ?”

“Ew, no. You know we’re not like that.”

“So… who, then? And why aren’t you more worried about Barton?”

“Because Barton has his own piece of ass to worry about him now,” Natasha grins, and this time Maria returns the smile, settling in next to her on the sofa and tucking her feet up.

“No shit?”

“ _ Barnes _ jumped him, believe it or not.”

“Damn. Is Steve okay?”

“Probably.” Natasha shrugs. “I haven’t seen him today. But knowing Steve… I think he’ll just be happy that Barnes has found a good thing, even if it can’t be him.” 

“Is that even… I mean, how stable is he? I haven’t had time to read the reports.”

Natasha shrugs. “Stable enough for Clint. Which is to say, not very, but working on it.”

“Huh. So this is an official kind of thing, or…?”

“Oh yeah. He literally climbed out of Bucky’s bed and showed up half-naked covered in bite marks asking if I was okay with him migrating immediately. One of them was bloody.”

“Shit,” Maria grins, pressing a hand to her mouth. “That’s kind of awesome. That’s… yeah, fuck. Good for Clint. So that means you… Sam?” 

“Hell yes. Finally.” 

“It’s only been a few months,” Maria teases. “Was he as good as you’d imagined?” 

“Better.” Natasha licks her lips, eyes sparkling. “I think I wrecked him a little, but he’ll recover.”

“You’re a menace,” Maria laughs. “So does this mean I’ll be seeing you more often?” She raises an eyebrow, her smile softening to a more neutral expression. Natasha doesn’t blush, not her style, but she does let her eyes flicker down for a moment, her foot nudging Maria’s shin. 

“I’d like that.” 

“Good.” Maria’s direct, Natasha likes that about her. She grabs Natasha by the ankles and tugs her forward, legs bracketing Maria’s frame, one wrapping around her waist. “So would I.”


	7. Reinforced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha helps Bucky clear some things up around Steve. Because these two punks need all the help they can get, apparently.

**reinforced**

adjective

describes a person who has a particularly strong relationship standing due to support from both links, often in the form of direct cooperation between the person’s protector and protected

_ Rox knew they were reinforced enough to handle the trauma of the accident—Noelle and Amanda communicated so well with each other that there was no reason to worry. _

 

“ _ Natalia. Kak dela _ ?” Bucky greets her as a politeness, so that she knows he knows she’s there. Everyone but Steve and Sam moves so quietly around here, it’s better not to give the impression that you’re sneaking on purpose.

“ _ Neplocha. _ ” She smiles when he turns to acknowledge her with a look over his shoulder, then heads over to the espresso machine as he thumbs his Starkpad to sleep. “How was your workout?”

“Fine. You slept in?” That’s a little surprising, normally the two of them are in the gym early, while Steve and Sam prefer to run around the neighborhood and Clint starts his workout later when he doesn’t have a reason not to. Her devious little grin, though, quickly gives him an idea of why she skipped out this morning.

“I… may not have been sleeping,” she admits, and Bucky just chuckles in response, rising and stretching before he goes to make his own black coffee. 

“ _ Zloy pauk _ ,” he teases her, measuring out two generous scoops of fine grounds. “And how is your Falcon?”

“Tamed,” Natasha grins, slipping up to sit on top of the kitchen island and sip at her latte. “And you can’t say a single word,  _ moi snaiperka _ . I haven’t seen Clint grinning like an idiot this much in months. Maybe years.” 

Bucky shrugs, leaning against the counter as his coffee brews. “He’s… good,” he evaluates simply, though it sends something warm through his blood to think of it. They’ve been living out of each other’s pockets for several days, and Bucky can’t stop being amazed at how goddamned beautiful Clint is on his knees. 

“And Steve?” Natasha asks. “Any developments?”

He frowns, gaze flicking down. He can’t lie to her, and she knows it. “Not exactly. I think he’s… giving me space. Maybe?”

“That’s good.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. I… don’t want to disappoint him.” 

“Because you’re not interested? Or because you’re not ready?” 

“Because… things have changed.” Buck’s frown deepens, flesh thumb rubbing a bit compulsively at the edge of the countertop. “I know, he and I, we used to fuck. Our link was like that.” She nods, sipping at her mug and not showing any real reaction on her face. “I can’t do that anymore,” he continues. “I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to give him control, like that.  _ Panemaesh? _ ”

“Yes. It was… years, for me.”

“But it’s different now.”

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t let… almost anyone. But yeah, it’s different. I have someone.”

“That’s good.” Bucky smiles, genuinely glad for her. “Maybe one day. I guess… I do want to… date him again. I want things to be easy between us.” 

“Do you have romantic feelings for him?”

“Yes,” he admits, almost instinctively, and then turns to pour his coffee, hiding his face from her for a moment. He adds a spoonful of sugar, stirs longer than is necessarily, rinses his spoon. She’s hiding a smile when he turns to face her again. 

“You know it doesn’t have to mean sex. Links aren’t like that anymore, it’s not either platonic or all in. There are more shades of grey.” 

“I know,” Bucky agrees. He’s better with the twenty-first century than some of them give him credit for. Steve set a low bar in that regard. “But I don’t know what he expects. Or how to talk about it.” 

She hums a little, tilting her head. “You don’t really know Stark, do you?” Bucky shakes his head, not sure of the relevance. “Well… he’s not exactly asexual,” she explains with a little smirk. “I mean, he has a reputation that would make a mother cry, but he’s got this thing with Bruce. And Bruce  _ really _ can’t be in a situation that might freak him out.”

“The Hulk, right?” 

“Right. It’s a different kind of trauma, but he’s  _ terrified _ of losing control. It doesn’t just come up in a link context, I mean, I’ve seen it. But Tony tops him, somehow. I think maybe Pepper helps.”

“Pepper Potts? The CEO?”

“The one and only. Pepper and Tony are kind of on-again, off-again lately, but I think… I mean, this is speculation, but I’m pretty sure she helped Tony chill the fuck out a bit, with the way he wanted Bruce when they first started working together, and helped him come up with ideas to get their needs met without risking death and massive property destruction.”

Bucky smirks at her wording, shaking his head. “What’re you implying, Natashenka?” 

She laughs outright, nudges his shoulder. “I’m just saying,  _ I _ wouldn’t corner you.” 

“Okay. That’s fair. But I don’t know Pepper Potts, do I?”

“No, but you know Sam. And more importantly, Steve knows Sam. If you wanted, I could give him a nudge, suggest he talk to Steve a bit. He’s not the kind of top that comes on real strong, probably could give Steve some advice about how to adjust to where you’re at now.” 

Bucky takes another sip of his coffee, considering silently for a moment. It feels a little grade school, asking for backup like this, but he likes Sam. Sam’s easy to talk to. 

“It’s not a terrible idea,” he admits. “I had a conversation with him, recently. He was kind of joking about Stevie being a big damn puppy dog, and sayin’ how he’s a bit of a hypocrite, since Steve never would’ve gone for Sam if Sam had been that forward with Steve.” 

“That’s probably true,” Natasha smiles. “Sam’s a gentle touch with him. He was pretty surprised, when they met, that he was even feeling that way about somebody putting out protective vibes.”

“Skull like concrete…” Bucky mutters into his mug. 

“Maybe he just needs a reminder. That this feels new for you, that you don’t have the history between you the way he does. I bet Sam would be able to talk him through it.”

“Yeah? All right. You tell Wilson I’ll owe him one.”

“Nah.” She puts her mug in the sink, gives his arm a squeeze. “That’s the nice thing about links. If he can help Steve figure out how to make you happy, I’m pretty sure you won’t owe Sam a thing.” 


	8. Platonic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another talky chapter. Natasha is more observant about what's going on with other relationships within the team than Sam is, but this should come as a surprise to no one.

**platonic**

adjective

non-sexual or non-romantic; typically when describing a platonic link the terms “protector” and “protected” are used, rather than the more informal “top” and “bottom”

_ Both of Deshaun’s immediate links were platonic—he preferred to pursue sex outside the circle. _

 

Wanda Maximoff is a bit of an enigma. 

Sam’s used to traumatized people, people dealing with loss and war and PTSD. He’s heard enough of those stories to last multiple lifetimes. And in a lot of ways, Wanda exhibits the classic signs, behaves like any young adult would when grieving the closest person in her life and simultaneously trying to cope with the massive damage she’s caused as a combatant. 

But in other ways, she’s oddly well-adjusted. She finds a place on the team through training and participating in communal activities around the compound, and even gets a pet cat, Mila, who lives in Wanda’s bedroom but occasionally shows up in the maintenance tunnels to scare the crap out of Clint. She constantly practices trying to moderate her powers, even outside of formal training times, and goes to therapy appointments twice a week. Most the time, she’s incredibly mature for her age, but occasionally she joins Barton in behaving like they’re both twelve, pranking the rest of the team or making Internet meme-based jokes that no one else gets (Stark might, but he’s almost never at the compound, hiding away in the Tower and trying to atone for his sins). Over time, Sam realizes that she looks to Barton as a mentor, an older brother figure. 

“Wait… have they linked up?” he asks Natasha one late summer afternoon, as they’re sitting outside in lounge chairs drinking Vision’s homemade lemonade and watching Barton teach her how to shoot on the archery range. Ostensibly, they’re also doing paperwork, but the weather’s nice and Sam abandoned his tablet half an hour ago.

“A bit slow on the uptake,  _ ptitska _ . I’m pretty sure that happened a week after Sokovia.” 

“Really?” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m surprised Cap didn’t have words for Barton about taking advantage of the vulnerable in their time of need, et cetera et cetera.”

“Given what she went through? Clint’s exactly what she needed. Steve’s been there—I’d bet you fifty bucks he could see that in the aftermath.”

“Okay, I guess that’s fair. I totally thought Barton was one-way, though.” 

Natasha laughs and shakes her head. “No. I can see why you’d think that, but… no. He just… needed to find the right person for what he can offer, as a protector. Someone who’s not looking for a dominant. And he’s comfortable with platonic relationships, as long as that’s not how both his links are.” 

Frowning, he reaches over and wraps his hand around hers, gently enough that she could easily pull away. When she doesn’t, he squeezes just a bit. “You were good for him. Good  _ to  _ him.”

“Oh, I agree. But it was never supposed to be permanent. I was never attracted to him.”  _ Unlike you _ , goes unsaid, but she turns her hand in his and digs a nail into the center of his palm, grounding him with the pain even as he hisses softly through his teeth. “And Bucky’s perfect for him.” 

“I’ve noticed. Never seen someone hit their knees so fast...”

Natasha laughs, then gives him a wicked little look over the top of her shades. “I have,” she says, and he can feel the warmth in his cheeks pretty much on cue. He takes a sip of lemonade, sighs as she lets up and presses with the pads of her fingers instead, massaging his palm. 

“What about Wanda and Vision? Cause if you really do want to say goodbye to that fifty bucks, my money’s on the android caving first.” 

“You’re on.” She switches hands, shakes with her right, then leans back into her chair. “He’s way too submissive with her to initiate. Also, I’m not sure he even knows that he  _ can _ link up.”

“Well… can he? Technically?”

Natasha shrugs. “Why not? All you need for a link is consent. He passes the Turing test.” 

“True. I can just imagine some conservative talk show host having a field day about non-humans being part of a protective circle.” 

“Yeah, and fuck them,” Natasha replies with a certain amount of glee in her tone. “If Thor can circle up with Jane and Darcy, then Vision can do whatever the hell he wants. They can fight me on that.” 

“Can I watch?” 

Natasha snickers. “Of course. Besides… I’m pretty sure I’ve already seen Vision top Tony.”

“Wait, say what? Seriously?” 

“I don’t think Tony knows that’s what’s happening, and maybe he’s not going to figure it out if he keeps up his self-imposed exile in the Tower, but yeah. JARVIS definitely used to help Pepper with Tony, back in the day. I think it’s just kind of… stayed with Vision. And whenever he emerges, it’ll be good for Tony not to have lost that. Especially since it’s his fault that Pepper finally left, on top of Ultron.” 

“Huh. I guess… I kind of forgot that Stark might even need protection. But I never see him around. I’ve only ever seen him be intimate with Bruce, when we were all in the Tower.”

“Yeah,” Natasha suddenly sounds a bit sad. “He’s… different, from how he used to be. You only knew him for a few months before Pepper started to disengage, and she was really good for him. He and Bruce fucked up, it’s just… you have to remember, losing JARVIS was almost as hard for Tony as losing Pietro was for Wanda. It’s just… he has Vision, at least.”

“Well,” Sam reasons. “I guess this is even more of a good thing, then… so does she.”


	9. Dead End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back at the ranch (aka Avengers Tower)...
> 
> Bruce and Tony hide out to recover from Sokovia together, and possibilities are discussed. If you made a map of Bruce Banner's anxieties, they would probably form an entire continent, but Tony's a good protector.

**dead end**

noun

someone at the end of a link-chain who only has one relationship indefinitely, thus keeping a protective circle from ever becoming complete 

_ Pritya felt a little guilty about being a dead end, but she couldn’t imagine linking up with Sean, the guy on the other end of their chain, and no one else really appealed to her either as a potential connecting link. _

 

“Mr. Stark.”

“Miss Potts. And… Agent Hill.” Tony’s eyebrows slowly raise as he takes in the high-resolution image projected onto a glass wall in his workshop, eyes darting sideways to Bruce with an ‘are you seeing what I’m seeing?’ look. Bruce merely looks bemused at the projection of Pepper, seated on a sofa, with Maria Hill’s head in her lap. They’re both fully dressed, but it still reads to Tony as vaguely scandalous.

“Not a word, Anthony,” Pepper warns, her fingers carding gently through Hill’s hair in contrast to the sharpness of her tone.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Just… am I interrupting?”

“Yes. But tell me what you need.”

“Video footage?” He can’t help his cheeky grin, and Pepper’s glare is sharp, but it’s Hill who speaks, no less imposing for her relaxed physical state.

“ _ Stark _ .”

Tony coughs and lets his posture snap into near-military straightness. “Sorry, ma’am.”  _ Yeah. She’s still way scarier than Pepper,  _ **_or_ ** _ Fury _ , he decides. “Business, right. I wanted to flag a file I just sent you. Check in the morning if you’re… busy. But I think the board will be interested.”

“Understood. I should be able to take a look later tonight. Anything else, Mr. Stark?”

“Actually, yeah, one more thing. Are we still supposed to be pretending you two aren’t a thing, or…?” He waves one hand vaguely, to encompass Pepper and Maria, and her smile is indulgent.

“You’re still supposed to exercise public discretion. But… no.” Her smile is fond, happier than he’s seen her in a while. “We don’t care if you tell the team.”

“Huh. Okay. Then that’ll be all, Miss Potts.”

“All right. Good night, Tony. Take care of him, Bruce,” she adds before the connection closes, and Bruce blushes, standing outside the frame where she shouldn’t have been able to see him. Then again, Tony has hardly let the man out of his eyeline in the past two weeks since Bruce finally came home after Sokovia, so Pepper’s prediction wasn’t all that impressive. 

“Take care of him,” Tony mutters. “I take care of  _ you _ ,” he insists, tugging Bruce to his side, and Bruce just smiles and kisses Tony’s collarbone where it peeks out of his t-shirt. 

“Yes sir, whatever you say, sir,” Bruce teases. “When would you be telling the team about them, anyway? Do you even talk to the team?”

Tony shrugs. “Not much more than you do,” he admits, lifting one hand to scratch lightly at the base of Bruce’s neck as he flips through some holographic images with the other. 

“So not much more than never.”

“I’ve been up to the compound a couple of times. They’re… doing well. Steve and Natasha are good trainers. I’ve thought about moving up there, but honestly I’d just get in their way.”

“I know the feeling,” Bruce agrees quietly, dropping his head to let Tony massage at the stiff muscles he’s found. “Steve sent a few emails. I’m not sure how to respond.”

“Steve, I can handle. But… I don’t know how to be, around Vision. They’re so much alike, I just… I can’t, yet. I’m afraid of what it would mean to trust him.”

Bruce doesn’t respond, just wraps both arms around Tony’s waist, and eventually Tony admits that he’s not paying any attention to his workstation. “C’mon, Doctor. Sofa,” he decides, and Bruce willingly follows him to the well-loved piece of furniture in the corner, settling on his side with his head in Tony’s lap. He gets back to the neck massage, working with the other hand along Bruce’s scalp. It’s nice, for a while, but then he feels Bruce stiffen up under his hands, suddenly, and frowns. 

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Maria and Pepper. They’re linked, now?”

“I… guess so. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Tony. You realize I’m going to be the reason the circle never closes, right?” Tony frowns, puts a little more pressure on Bruce’s neck and stills his hand, letting the touch be grounding for the other man. 

“How do you figure that? And what’s wrong with a semicircle, or a chain or whatever?”

“There’s nothing  _ wrong _ with it, but… I thought Hill was part of the reason. I didn’t imagine she cared about circles, much, but maybe I’m wrong? And then you’re likely to link up with a top sooner or later, so if I’m the only real dead end…”

“Whoa, Brucie. Settle,” Tony puts a little more weight into his voice, presses the other hand over Bruce’s side. Not enough to make him feel trapped, but enough to calm him. Even with their long absence from one another after Sokovia, they’ve been together long enough that Tony knows all the tricks to keep his lover settled without bringing out the other guy. “Let’s think this through logically. First of all, ‘dead end’ is a shitty term and none of the Avengers are gonna call you that. If they do, I’ll go a few rounds with them in the suit.”

Bruce laughs, even if it’s not entirely happy, and relaxes minutely under Tony’s hands. “I know. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t thinking it. Or wouldn’t  _ like _ a complete circle.”

“Okay, maybe, but there’s no reason that won’t happen. Some circles take years and years to form. I’d rather we take our time than just find any old person to close it up, slapdash. And you don’t know that I’m going to find another top anytime soon, either, do you? There’s no reason you’re going to be the reason.” 

“Right, but… I haven’t topped in  _ decades _ , Tony. You know you can form another link, when one comes along, but I.... I mean now… can you seriously imagine someone feeling safe protected by me?”

“Sure I can. It’s not the Middle Ages, right? Pepper protected me, but I was in situations all the time where she couldn’t actually keep me safe. Hell, I put myself in them 90% of the time.”

“...and Tony, I mean this in the best possible way, but you see how well that worked out.” 

Tony sighs, gently squeezing his neck. Only Bruce could get away with that statement, but he’s not wrong. “Okay, not the best example. But my point is, you don’t have to be mentally and physically capable of  _ actually _ protecting the person you’re with 24/7. That’s not how relationships work anymore. You can rely on them, and you can rely on their other link… and if it’s sex you’re worried about, it’s not like you have to full-on top. You could end up protecting someone platonically.”

“Maybe.” Bruce snuggles into Tony’s hands a bit, affirming the touch, and Tony returns to massaging. 

“Just to be clear, though… I’ve never believed you couldn’t top, other guy or no. Just like I never believed you couldn’t bottom.” He presses a kiss behind Bruce’s ear, and feels the movement in the man’s jaw muscle when he smiles. The way they are with each other now, it’s almost hard to believe that Bruce was so reluctant to try it out four years ago.

“Yeah,” Bruce concedes, “you do love a long-shot, Tony.”

“Not so long. You just… have to initiate, a bit, so maybe that’s harder than what happened with us. But it’s not impossible. You should pay attention to Steve and Sam, next time you’re at the compound.”

“Steve and Sam? Why?” 

“I just… think Sam would be a good model for you. He’s different, with Steve, than a lot of tops. But that’s definitely the kind of relationship they have.”

“All right. I guess. Still not going up to the compound any time soon, though.”

“Agreed,” Tony replies, snuggling Bruce just the least bit tighter. “I’m not done having you to myself just yet.”


	10. Top-Shy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for the ship you did not expect! Bruce as a nervous top is my favorite. (My second favorite is Bucky not even bothering to human at a social event.)

**top-shy**

adjective

reluctance to be a protector in a relationship

_ Nadia wanted to close her circle one day, but she was nervous about how to go about it since she didn’t have a protected and had been a bit top-shy since her public breakup with Adriana. _

 

“I swear to God, Stark, I know where your bodies are buried, if you make me do one more…”

“Doctor’s orders. Plus, I’m not done calibrating. C’mon. I’ll spot you.”

Rhodey groans overdramatically, and Bruce can’t help but smile from his station across the shared lab. The setup isn’t exactly like their lab in the Tower, but it’s been easy enough to get used to in these last few weeks. One major addition is a twin set of rails that Rhodey can use as support while getting used to using his cybernetic limbs, located in the lab so that Tony can quickly make adjustments right in the middle of these sessions. For all the previous uncertainty around moving to the compound, when Rhodey was injured in a mission gone wrong, Tony showed no hesitation in dropping everything and moving himself and Bruce there to help his best friend recover. Bruce can’t say he’s surprised, and in a way the excuse has helped to smooth over the transition, their hesitant re-entry back into team communal space. He’s pretty sure the team is more ready to forgive them for Ultron than they’re ready to forgive themselves, in a way. 

What  _ is _ surprising is that Tony actually sold the Tower, but it’s not like he has no other options to which he can flee if things get rough. Bruce, less so, but he’s never doubted that Tony will take care of him if asked—nor has he ever doubted his own ability to make his way, if need be. For now, he’s comfortable in the lab, slowly getting used to seeing the team around and trying to be something other than apologetic occasionally. 

“Don’t you smirk at me, Banner,” Rhodey warns as he gets his balance again in between the rails. “This is a lot harder than it looks.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Bruce replies, and his tone is gentle, honest. He offers Rhodey a genuine smile, and the man gives him a small one in return. 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s always the quiet ones, though, I’m telling you…” He trails off as he puts all his focus into just walking in a straight line, and Bruce turns back to his work, not wanting to stare. This is the most time he’s ever spent with Rhodey, really, despite how close he and Tony are. When he first started seeing Tony, he was very conscious of being “the new person,” in contrast to Rhodey and Pepper—and for that matter, JARVIS. Pepper and JARVIS welcomed him into the fold easily enough, but Rhodey was mostly out on active duty, and when he did come to the Tower he and Tony tended to do their own thing. Now, Bruce feels considerably less new, but he’s still aware of their history, and it takes effort not to feel extraneous. Fortunately, Tony knows how to read him, and does an admirable job balancing the two of them.

“All right, honeybear,” Tony finally concedes. “That’s all I need from you today.”

“Thank God,” Rhodey groans, dropping heavily into his wheelchair. “Do I get a drink now?”

“When are you due to take your meds?”   


“I hate you, Mom.” 

Tony just grins and salutes Rhodey as he wheels out of the lab, rolling his eyes. Bruce smiles fondly but doesn’t spare much attention from the data he’s analyzing. 

“He’s doing better.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Maybe I should tinker with the balance mechanism a bit…”

“It’s not just the tech, Tony,” Bruce smiles, adjusting the model on the screen a bit and then frowning at the output. “It’s not even mostly the tech.”

“I know, but…”

“It takes time to retrain the surrounding muscles to work with the prosthetic, even with all your cybernetic…”

“I  _ know _ , I just…”

“Want your friend to get better.” This time Bruce does look up, meets Tony’s eyes, and the other man sighs in defeat.

“Yeah. I do.”

“He will,” Bruce promises, holding an arm out and folding Tony into a hug, bussing his temple with a gentle kiss. “You just have to be patient.”

“Says  _ you _ ,” Tony grumbles, and Bruce just scritches the base of his neck a bit. “Yeah, says me. C’mon. Take a look at this equation.”

~*~

“How many hours until I can get out of this monkey suit?” Clint grumbles, sipping moodily at a martini of some kind and tugging at his tie with the other hand. Bruce laughs a little, nursing his own glass of wine.

“Two hours and about… ten minutes,” he confirms, checking the overly swank platinum watch Tony bought him for an anniversary gift one year. “Trust me. I’m counting.” 

“You two are a couple of babies. Seriously. Infants. You’ll survive.”

“We don’t wear a dress uniform like you do, Colonel,” Bruce teases, eyes glittering over the rim of his wine glass. The alcohol has him a little looser than usual, almost flirtatious. Rhodey doesn’t call him on it, but he does look slightly surprised. 

“Well… I think the trick is not to look so damned uncomfortable,” Rhodey suggests, and Bruce has to admit it’s a little sad that Rhodey is standing straighter than he is, new prosthetic and all. He’s been walking more or less smoothly for a week now, but it takes more out of him than anyone would realize. 

“I just want to go home. Bucky’s having one of his bad days, and this tie is definitely choking me,” Clint grouses.

“Seriously, Barton, you are five years old.”

Bruce is about to agree with Rhodey when a woman comes up to them, equally put together for the gala in a velvety green dress, her frosty blonde pixie cut perfectly coiffed and lipstick wine-dark. She’s not effusive and embarrassed like some fans are (possibly because she’s not as young as their usual demographic), but she does address them directly when she slides up to their little trio, forming a circle. 

“I knew tonight was a hot ticket, but I didn’t know there’d be so many Avengers in attendance,” she opens with a coy smile. “Isn’t it normally just Stark at these charity things?”

“Well, sometimes it’s Cap, too,” Rhodey allows. “But yeah, it’s rare our schedules all align,” he explains, offering a hand politely to her. “James Rhodes.”

“Of course. Amy Schusterman,” she introduces, taking Bruce’s and Clint’s hands in turn. She lingers a little on Clint, her smile turning wicked. 

“Hawkeye, right? You don’t show up much in the press, but I hear you’ve got quite the skill with a bow.”

“Well, yeah, I do,” Clint grins, responding well to flattery as always. “Kinda prefer shooting things to doing interviews.”

She giggles and sips her drink. “I don’t blame you. Reporters are sharks. But you shouldn’t be afraid them, I mean, you probably fight  _ actual _ sharks.”

“Well, no, ma’am, not exactly. A giant squid, once.” Clint lights up like a kid as he always does, telling war stories. “It was immune to Tony’s repulsor beams for some reason, but I got ‘im right in the eye and we brought him down quick after that.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that one. Heard it was pretty gross,” Rhodey recalls. “Tony was getting the gunk out of his armor for hours.”

“Yeah, and that’s why I like to stay at a distance,” Clint snorts.

“Well… I hope not  _ always _ ,” Amy teases, and Clint, being Clint, doesn’t even seem to fully understand how blatantly she’s flirting. But that doesn’t much matter, because before Clint can even respond, Bucky has appeared out of nowhere, shoving his way in between Clint and Bruce and clamping a hand on the back of Clint’s neck. He’s wearing what Tony calls the murder glare, and Amy actually takes a half-step back in the face of it.  _ Smart woman, _ Bruce thinks.

“No,” Bucky says simply to her, and then drags Clint off by the neck like a wayward pup. Bruce and Rhodey just look at each other and sigh.

“Sorry about that. He has the social skills of a three-year-old when he’s in a bad mood,” Rhodey apologizes.

“Who  _ is _ he?”

“Clint’s protector,” Rhodey responds vaguely. Tony’s legal team is working on the paperwork to get Bucky’s past deeds all officially pardoned, but he’s not an official Avenger yet, still just supposed to be a shadow on nights like these. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment…” A hand on Bruce’s back, he gracefully guides them to the bar, and away from the awkward pretense of having to keep up conversation with a woman who’s obviously only interested in Clint. Bruce can’t figure out how to express his relief, so he orders them both another glass of wine instead. 

“Think Bucky’s going to actually wait to the end of this thing to get Clint on his knees somewhere?” Rhodey snickers once they have their glasses and have found a new spot, leaning against a wall where he can unobtrusively get a little extra support. Bruce smirks and shakes his head. 

“Steve’s around here somewhere. I doubt he’d let him get away with that.”

“Still. He looked pretty determined…”

“Yeah.” Bruce smiles. “I get it, I mean… I’ve been known to have a possessive side too, sometimes, but I can’t imagine being that…” he waves his hand vaguely to encompass Bucky’s whole demeanor with Clint, and Rhodey’s smile goes soft and interested.

“No? What are you like, then? As a top, I mean.”

“Oh.” Bruce knows he’s blushing, sips his wine to cover it, though he’s pretty sure he’s not actually covering it. “More… subtle, I guess? I like… taking care of someone I’m protecting. It’s been a while, but… that’s the part that’s always interested me. Figuring out someone’s needs, how I can meet them.” He licks his lips, nerves getting the best of him, but Rhodey’s eyes track the movement and Bruce feels himself stepping just a hair closer without conscious thought. 

“So a bottom’s like a puzzle to you, then?” Rhodey teases. “Figures, you scientists are all the same.” 

“A little bit,” Bruce agrees. “But no. My topping style is  _ not _ like Tony’s, I can promise you that.”

“That’s good. Would be weird.” 

“Yeah,” Bruce murmurs, and then rethinks what Rhodey said. Weird because it would be weird for Bruce to top just like  _ his _ top? Or weird because Tony’s Rhodey’s best friend, and Rhodey wants Bruce? His pulse feels a little fast. “Do you… uh…” He falters, trying to think what to say, but Rhodey’s patient. “I like your eyes,” he settles on.  _ Yep. Definitely too much to drink. _

“Do you?” Said eyes are definitely laughing now, but with Bruce, not at him. He’s leaning in a bit, body language warm and open. 

“I think… if we weren’t in public, I’d kiss you,” Bruce adds, suddenly bold. But they are in public, so he doesn’t. Instead, he lets one hand come to form a bracelet around Rhodey’s wrist, fingertip gently tracing the veins on the inside. “Raincheck?”

“Yeah,” Rhodey agrees. “Okay.” His smile is warm. “Maybe… let’s not rush into things. But dinner?” 

Bruce nods, hopefully not  _ too _ eagerly. “Dinner.”

~*~

“You made a dinner date with Rhodey.  _ Rhodey _ ,” Tony says, accusing but not angry-sounding, grinning as he points a finger at Bruce. “You sly dog.”

“What? I like Rhodey,” Bruce says as he pulls the door of their suite to behind himself. It’s the night after the gala, and he’s been working all day, but Tony and Rhodey must have talked in there somewhere. He’s certain he’s blushing as he starts to unbutton his shirt. 

“Yeah, you  _ like _ Rhodey,” Tony crows. “Why didn’t you tell me when we got home last night?”

“I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say, or not say. I wanted to ask first, you know, when everyone was sober. Maybe he wouldn’t still want to go through with it,” Bruce explains, quite reasonably he thinks, as Tony comes up into his space and grabs his wrists, pulling them away so he can finish with the buttons instead.

“Brucie. You’re ridiculous. Rhodey doesn’t make dumb tipsy choices, that’s me. I think he  _ likes _ you. Just like you  _ like _ him.”

Bruce sighs. “You and Clint really ought to go back to elementary school together.” 

“Stop deflecting.” Tony’s voice is low, gently commanding, and he slides the shirt off Bruce’s shoulders. 

“I just… maybe it’s a stupid idea, Tony. I’ve never seen him with a protector. Maybe he’s not even looking. And if he is,  _ I’m _ not…”

“You’re perfectly capable of the job, and I don’t want to hear another word in that direction,” Tony cuts him off, snapping his belt buckle open and sliding the leather free. “Not all protectors are the same. You have your own style. You did before the other guy, and there’s no reason you can’t top now. You just need the right person, who likes that style. I don’t think Rhodey’s a bad candidate, actually.” 

“Why?” Bruce asks, hopeful, hoping he doesn’t sound needy as Tony kneels down and helps him out of his shoes.

“Because Rhodey’s in a tough place right now. He doesn’t want to feel weak. Recovery… isn’t the easiest thing, for him. You’ve seen that. Maybe a softer, more careful top who’s not looking to dominate the fuck out of him or play power games isn’t a bad thing. And lord knows you’re careful.” Tony rolls his eyes, tugging Bruce’s pants and underwear down.

“For good reason.”

“Sometimes.”

“Yes, okay.” Bruce sighs, but smiles at the same time as Tony gets to his feet and pulls him close with a few searching kisses. “Wait a sec. Have you eaten?”

“A full dinner and everything,” Tony mumbles against his mouth.

“Vision made you do it,” Bruce surmises, not even a question. Tony grumbles a little, but he doesn’t contradict the statement, going back to the kisses. Bruce can’t help but smile to himself. Since they officially linked up, Vision’s been good for Tony—whether Tony will ever admit it or not. And Bruce, wrapped up in the secure hold of his lover and being gently directed to the bed, can’t say he minds the extra help.


	11. Closing the Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end! Various pairings react to the unceremonious and barely-noticed closing of their circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to those who have been reading this little slice of world-building! Let me know in the comments if there are particular parts of the story / pairings you want more of (present or past). I do intend to write more in this verse, both plot and porn.

**closing the circle**

phrase

when two people who are otherwise connected through one or more partners in a chain between them start a relationship

_ Eli and Jax closed the circle rather quickly—they’d both been dating Becca for three months, and from the moment they met they were pretty much gone on each other. _

 

“Ugh. Could there be one movie… just  _ one _ , I’m saying, not the whole genre, but one movie where it’s not all closed circle, happy ever after, mazel tov and good night?” Sam flicks the TV off with the remote and pushes his face into Natasha’s neck as he grouses, nuzzling a bit there. She laughs and slides a hand up under the back of his shirt, her hand soft and warm as it flattens against his skin. 

“I don’t know, I didn’t think that one was so bad.”

“No, not the movie, but it’s just… seriously, why are closed circles the be-all-and-end-all of everything? I’ve never even been in one, and I’m perfectly well adjusted, aren’t I?”

“Well… that’s up for debate,” Natasha teases, pinching his hip. “But you  _ are _ in a closed circle,  _ ptitska. _ ”

“Wait, what?? How? What about Bruce, he doesn’t have two links...”

“You never notice anyone linking up,” she chides when he lifts his head in his shock, rolling her eyes and kissing him. “He and Rhodey are official now.”    


“Well, okay, that’s not a big surprise, but it still doesn’t close the circle. Rhodey’s not protecting anyone.” 

“Isn’t he?” Natasha looks entirely too pleased with herself.

“So either Pepper’s got someone new and Rhodey’s also… or… wait,  _ Pepper _ ?”

Natasha just grins and shrugs, and Sam needs a moment in his head to do  _ that _ math.

~*~

“She owes me twenty bucks.” 

“Sir, I believe it would be rather crass to congratulate your former partner on her new relationship through calling in a bet,” Vision postulates in his usual dry tone that totally means eye rolls on the inside. He and JARVIS are pretty much the same that way.

“Probably, but I’m me.” 

“Yes, and as always, I despair of that.” 

Tony grins. “Nah. You love me,” he declares with a sassy sway of his hips, walking over to his workbench to find a wayward component. He finds it among a mess of other odds and ends strewn over the surface, but then realizes Vision hasn’t said anything, and looks up, frowning. “Don’t you?”

“I… am quite loyal to you, Sir. I’m not sure I can quantify love sufficiently to determine…”

“Oh.” At that, Tony smiles again, confidence returned. “Yeah, JARVIS said the same thing, pretty much. It’s okay. Love’s not really quantifiable like that.”

“You are not upset?”

“Nope. He kind of figured it out, eventually. That he loved me. Or… maybe I did,” Tony frowns, remembering the fervor of activity around Ultron, the shock of the moment he realized… He shakes his head to clear it. “You’ll come around.” And Vision, to his credit, just stands over Tony’s shoulder, silent but steady.

~*~

“You’ll never guess what Tony told me today,” Steve says as they walk through the woods around the compound, fingers laced together. It’s already dark, but with the enhancements neither of them mind. Steve likes the quiet, and Bucky enjoys being able to use his skills a bit to track their path and listen out for threats, though he never actually says so. 

“He’s bought a tropical island. He’s bought  _ two _ islands.”

Steve snorts. “No. It’s about Pepper and Rhodes. They’ve hooked up, apparently.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s quiet for a good minute, boots crunching against the pine needles below. Steve’s not worried, though. He often drops into easy pauses when they’re alone together. Eventually, he stops and steps up to a tree, tugging Steve with him. “That mean the circle’s complete, then?” 

Steve smiles as Bucky’s arms snake around his waist, and he steps up between Bucky’s slightly spread legs, pinning him to the tree. They’re not as full-on amorous as they used to be, but they’re learning, slowly, what it is to be together in this century. “Yeah, I guess it does,” he agrees, fitting his mouth against Bucky’s. They kiss slow, soft, Bucky’s thumbs just brushing up and down at Steve’s waist—one skin-warm, the other cool. “Happily ever after, or some shit,” Bucky mumbles against Steve’s lips, and Steve just laughs.

“Only with you, jerk.” Bucky grunts and kisses him just a little bit harder.

~*~

“He used to talk about closed circles,” Wanda says, apropos of nothing, as Clint approaches her from behind. He’s silent as always, but Wanda has a sense of him, whether by her powers or just intuition he’s not sure. She’s sitting in the grass, hands dug in behind her, the little memorial garden for Pyotr in front. He plops down beside her, folds his legs criss-cross. 

“Yeah?”

“He wanted one. One day. He thought he had plenty of time.” She’s not crying, but she’s staring off into the distance in the way she sometimes does, and Clint’s learned that the best way he can be for her in these times is just to stay close, not touch, be an easy presence. Sometimes, they share truths about the ones they’ve lost, and he decides this is one of those times.

“I didn’t care,” he admits. “I don’t remember being young enough to believe in real circles. But Phil…”

“Made you really not give a fuck about them?” she suggests, and he laughs.

“Yeah. It’s weird.” He digs his hands into the grass, tears out a clump, sorts through it with his fingers. “It’s not some fireworks show, is it? It doesn’t feel different. I’d rather have him back,” he admits. And because their relationship is different, because she knows a lot about what ifs, she doesn’t make the observation that  _ their _ link wouldn’t exist were Phil Coulson still alive. Instead, she slides her hand over, around his and the little clump of remaining earth. 

“Me, too.”

~*~

He buys her navy stilettos, sateen and strappy, with his own goddamn money, thank you, not one of Tony’s credit cards. She kisses him and lets him take her out to her favorite restaurant and doesn’t call him sappy at all for celebrating a three-month anniversary. His gait is smooth, now, but still a little slower than before the accident. She loops her hand around his arm and shortens her stride without a comment, new heels clicking on the greasy tiles. She orders the most loaded cheeseburger on the menu, struggles to get her mouth around the thing, even, and he just laughs and dabs at her lips and chin with a napkin, never once saying a damned thing about her appetite. After dinner, they share a red-white-and-blue milkshake concoction named for Captain America, and send Steve an obnoxious selfie with Rhodey saluting the camera and Pepper obscenely curling her tongue under the cherry. He almost licks the whipped cream off her nose, but as a protector he’s a perfect gentleman. She stays on his side of the booth after the photo and coyly slides one thigh to press against his under the table, face not giving away a thing as her hand brushes his lap. Well—more or less. He’s been pining after her for what feels like an age, and he’s only human, after all.


End file.
